


Left Side of Lawful

by CavannaRose, MelyssaShadows



Series: Noir Stories [7]
Category: L.A. Noire, Mob City
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bar Room Brawl, Bars and Pubs, Flirting, Gangster Molls, Gangsters, Gen, Girls with Guns, Guns, Mobsters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2020-12-27 21:37:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21125636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelyssaShadows/pseuds/MelyssaShadows
Summary: Patsy Nelson was a dame with a dream, and that dream was not to be dragged into the shit that her childhood friends pulled around town. How long could she avoid it though, was the real question.





	1. Chapter 1

Coming up around the kinda fellas I did is almost enough to make a gal dangerous, if she ain't careful. Me? I've always been careful, it came easy to me. My Daddy weren't no good and my Mama was hardly better, so I learned hard and fast just what the world thought of me. It didn't bother me too much though. The young fellas that ran about the street all treated me like I was their little sister, even after they were panting over prettier dames. I wasn't plug-ugly, but I couldn't compete with the legs on some of them gals, and my voice? Well I was more crow than canary.

I tried not to let that bother me, though. As we all got older, I figured out real quick it was better that the fellas I made mooncalf eyes at didn't return the sentiment. They was crummy to their girlfriends and worse to their wives, but I always got a smile out of even the worst of them. No one ever bothered me, but no one ever flirted either. Too afraid of all the brotherly types with their big guns and short tempers. Left a gal lonely, if you know what I mean. Sure being in the thick of things is exciting, but it didn't do nothing to keep me warm at night.

Not that I spent much of my nights at home these days. I finally scraped enough dough together to buy out the old bar on Vernon and make it into something special. I didn't have to worry about making a splash, the neighbourhood fellas all made a point of swinging through to say hello every once in a while, and that brought others who wanted to have a look at them. Maybe it was cheap to make a quick buck off of who I knew and who knew me back, but times were hard all around, and business was business. As long as they didn't talk shop or shoot up the place, I didn't mind the friendly faces.

They didn't really think I would do it. Open and run the bar, I mean. Mickey always laughed at the idea, a dame running the numbers and keeping things afloat. "Patricia," he'd say. Only person who ever called me Patricia these days. "A dame in charge is crazy as men walking on the moon." Made me mad as an adder, but I didn't say nothing. You could never say nothing to Mickey, he'd fly off the handle in a heartbeat. Sweet as molasses the rest of the time though. As much as he mocked, he offered to back me if I couldn't afford the whole shebang, but I turned him down as polite as I could manage. Lord knows I love him like a brother, but I know where his money comes from, and what kind of favours get called in if you take what he's handing out.

The only downside of being friends with Mickey, is that creep Rothman's been hanging about lately. The man's got eyes that give me the chills, and he's always got 'em on me. I can feel him watching while I pour drinks and do my best to be charming to customers who are too afraid of what his boss will say to chat back. I asked Mickey to call off his watchdog, but the bastard just mussed my hair and told me he was being brotherly. Of all the fellas, I don't think Rothman feels brotherly when he looks at me. I once heard him say that dames were a liability, and they were only worth anything when they were on their backs. Well I ain't turning my back on that dog, he's liable to turn rabid.

Maybe cuz of the fellas, maybe cuz I'm the only joint in the whole city that serves both Old Crow and Early Times, both popular with gents that wanted to seem fancier than they really were. Whatever their reason, some of them were real nice, and I could finally get some banter back at the counter. It's always disheartening when a new fella would come through, all friendly and handsome, and just when I was working up to a proper flirt, one of his pals would draw him aside, whisper a few words, and he'd go all cagey. Even the cops are afraid of Mickey and his boys, extra worrisome since Bugsy got offed.

Rothman ain't in tonight, thank my lucky stars, but Stax is. The lawyer is slick, I can say that for him. Nice shoes, expensive tie, and smells like a field of flowers. I guess some gals like that, me? I like a man to smell like a man. He's looking squirrely tonight though, and that makes me nervous, so I head over to say hello. Laying a hand on the counter in front of him to catch his attention, I put the other on my hip. "Evening, Ned. Didn't think you'd be coming 'round tonight. Can I fetch ya something?"

His eyes flicker over to the door, and mine follow. I give him my sternest look, and he sighs, running his hand over that slicked back hair of his. He's lost weight since Bugsy went down, and he's always got shadows under his eyes these days too. I can tell he ain't sleeping much, and I think maybe he's carrying a secret around. I won't ask about it, though. Every question you ask these fellas drags you deeper into their world, and I've worked every day of my 26 years not to get pulled under, I ain't gonna risk that for the likes of Ned Stax.

"Umm, yeah Patsy. Get me two of the malt, I'm meeting someone." Since that was already more information than I was looking for, I backed off, heading to fetch him the drinks. If he was doing business here, it weren't Mickey's business. Mick had promised that my joint was a business free zone, and he wouldn't like that Stax was going under the table like this. It was a bold move, and I chewed on that for a minute. Who would Stax be meeting here that he didn't think I'd mention to Mickey? It was enough to make a gal curious, even one that knew better than to get that way.


	2. Chapter 2

When I see who Ned Stax invited into my bar for his little meetup, I know for a fact that I'm gonna have to say something to Mickey. My status as honourary little sister wouldn't last two shakes if he ever suspected me of covering up for the likes of Joe Teague. He was on everyone's shitlist these days. I'd never seen the man in person before, the fellas tended to keep me away from folks they thought was trouble. The irony of that wasn't lost upon me, but they were laughably sincere in their endeavors. It would almost be sweet if they weren't a bunch of murderers.

I took a little extra time fetching refills, partly to let them get the small talk over with, partly to admire the cop from a distance. He wasn't handsome, not by a long shot. His face had obviously met the hard end of a lot of blows a time too many. His nose had been broken so often that it was flat and misshapen. His jaw was broad and square, and his hair a little too short to be fashionable, but he'd been military, apparently that was where he and Ned had met. I hadn't heard the whole story, hadn't really been that interested. Still, there was something interesting about Teague.

They were an odd pair, the roughneck and the dandy. War had a habit of forging odd friendships. Look at me and Mickey, if things had been safer and simpler, we probably wouldn't never have met, but fighting a war was what left my Daddy the way he was, or at least that was what my Mama had always said. I damn near spilled the Old Crow I was pouring letting my mind wander off like that, and I couldn't have it. That was profit attempting to flow over the top of my shot glass. Tipping the excess back in the bottle, I finally sashayed back over to the fellas, who seemed to have gotten past the awkward stage and lit themselves a pair of cigarettes.

"Good evenin', Miss. Nice place you got here." They never told me he had a voice on him. It was low and rough, the kinda voice that crawled up a gal's spine and got her all tingly. I gave him a second look, maybe I'd been too harsh about his looks. A voice like that, I could look past the five o'clock shadow and into those big brown eyes. There was darkness there, but all the eyes I'd ever seen were just as bad, if not worse. In the world we lived in, a man wasn't a man until there were shadows peering out of his eyes, telling tales about the dark world we all lived in.

I set the fresh glasses in front of the men, sweeping away the empties sitting there. I think Ned might have drank them both before Teague even made it to the bar. "Thanks for the compliments, handsome. I'll make sure to pass them along to the owner." I knew Ned was giving me a funny look, but that was his business not mine. He'd cut his teeth on the knowledge that you don't give out anyone's secrets, and I knew for a fact that he wouldn't give out mine. I didn't think the cop made a habit of learning who owned every dive and gin joint in town, but I heard he was thorough.

I stepped away so the two could talk, running through everything I knew about Master Gunnery Sergeant Joseph Teague. There wasn't much to go on. He worked for that Captain Parker that had such a hard-on for Mickey. Mostly what I knew were Ned's stories about Gunny that came out when he was drinking, late at night, after the rough fellas had rolled off to lift skirts or do those dark deeds that were best kept out of the light. Deeds they never talked about when I was around. Deeds we all pretended I didn't know was them. Maybe other dames woulda been tempted to listen to Teague and Stax talk, but not me.

Instead I set a few things in order on the back shelves, keeping an eye on a couple low level toughs who had been getting progressively rowdier in the back corner of the bar. They weren't nobody important. No family ties or anything, and apparently they was too stupid to realize that this was not the bar to go stir up trouble in. The only one of Mickey's boys that was here right now was the fixer, though, and pretty as he was he wasn't nothing but a problem if push came to shove. Maybe I shouldn't have given Mickey so much grief for how many fellas he always had coming around, cuz I could use a few about now.

A bottle smashed against the table and that was the end of my tolerance level. I pulled the shotgun out from under the bar, cocking it loudly as I braced myself just like the fellas had shown me. Mickey had warned me that the kickback on this one was gonna be a bitch, but likely I shouldn't have to shoot it. It was big enough that most mooks would stand down just looking at the barrel, and it seemed he was right. Idiot One stopped moving mid-swing, broken bottle dangling in the air as he turned wide eyes towards me. Idiot Two had enough brain cells to scoot back away from his drinking buddy.

"All right, fellas. Seems like you've had enough for one night, and now I gotta waste my time sweeping glass off the floor when I had more important things to do this evening. I'm gonna need you two to fetch your hats and walk yourselves right out the door or else I'm gonna have to make a few complaints about the quality of patron I'm seeing round these parts, capisce?" I won't even pretend to know what I looked like, a scrap of female like me, all plain faced with my hair curled and a shotgun almost as big around as my wrist propped against my knee. My skirt had ridden up so far you could see my garters, but my hands didn't shake, neither did my voice.

The two idiots seemed to figure I was being serious, and with a few hasty apologies they made a hasty retreat, Idiot One still had the broken bottle in his hand, but that was fine with me. He could go stab his buddy somewhere else, somewhere where I wouldn't have to be scrubbing bloodstains out of the wood floor. Putting the safety back on I lowered the shotgun, finally letting the nervousness show as my hands shook so hard I thought they'd fly away. If there had actually been bullets in the damned thing I might have blown my fool foot off.


	3. Chapter 3

Teague saunters over, all suave and sure like he's been here a thousand times, dirty glasses in hand. "Ain't nothin' like seein' a lady brandishing a shotgun. I think they nearly tripped over themselves trying to get out of your way." The compliment almost makes me smile, might have managed it if I could get my hands to stop shaking. Fuck but I was gonna hate calling Mickey tonight. I'd skip it, but that would make things so much worse. He didn't have much in the way of actual family, so he kept tabs on what he felt was his. "Here, refill these for my pal over there, if you don't mind. And if you wanna toss me the broom, I can clean that mess for you."

The glasses settle with a clink, and I manage to find my calm, shaking off the nervous energy and tucking the shotgun back into its place. "If you're not drinking, I won't be dirtying another pair of cups, I'll just fetch Ned a double." I take another moment to look Teague over, I don't think anyone had ever offered to help clean up around here, not even those bootlickers that Mickey liked to keep around, nodding their heads and telling him how damn clever he was. I turned my back on the cop, hoping he hadn't noticed me noticing him like some cat in heat, and started prepping a fresh glass for the lawyer.

"Broom is through the door at the end of the bar, first door you see on the right." The second door led up to my modest little apartment, but that information wasn't anything I was in the habit of giving out. Other than my one fool self I think the only one who'd ever been up there was Mickey, and that wasn't since I first opened the joint. He had to look it over, him and one of his security goons. Make sure that it was safe, no way for anyone to come up and in accept through the bar where he could keep an eye out. I snorted, shaking my head. Folks could complain about overprotective fathers or brothers all they wanted, I'd trade a dozen of them for Mickey Cohen watching over my shoulder. The man was determined to have me die a virgin, I swear.

Taking the drink down the bar, I settle it in front of Stax, whose face looks like his dog just died. I know there's been trouble around him, that was probably why he was here with Teague. Leaning in I put a napkin down, settling the glass carefully on top as I lowered my voice. "You got about twenty minutes before one of the boys wanders through, Ned. I sure hope you're planning on telling Mickey about this meeting, because you know I'm gonna hafta, and I mean tonight." Now I wasn't some disloyal dame, but sometimes a gal had to do what she could to keep the bloodshed to a minimum. That was my self-appointed role in all this. I kept tempers even and smoothed ruffled feathers wherever I could. In return, the boys watched my back and kept an eye on the unsavory sorts that might be attracted to a bar with no one but one lonely female manning the helm.

Stax looked up at me, all hangdog and bloodshot eyes. "Not to sound ungrateful, Patsy, but I know what I'm doing." I sniffed, tossing back my curls dismissively. The ungrateful fool was going to find himself alone in the dark one day, and it wouldn't matter who he used to be friends with back in his military days unless he learned to be a little more careful. I guess that was none of my nevermind though, since he was going to brush off my good-intentioned advice.

"Do whatever you want, Benedict Stax, but I know where you came from just as sure as I know every wise guy on the block, and you're running desperate short of friends that give a good damn. Maybe you should keep that in mind before you go pushing folks away." With my piece said, I sashayed back down the bar, stopping to fetch a beer for one of the regulars. I flirted a bit to make myself feel better, not that he flirted back. He had had the rules explained to him by one of the boys, and ever since he was nothing but polite. It was enough to make a gal scream. My eyes went back down the bar, looking for Teague.

Okay, every part of me knew that flirting with a cop was probably the dumbest thing I could do. Mickey wouldn't like it, and round this town lately what Mickey didn't like didn't get done. Still, he was my childhood pal, not my damned keeper, and I was about ready to strip naked and roll down Central Avenue just for a sincere smile these days. I picked up a glass that was already sparkling clean, leaning against the barback and polishing it with a pristine white cloth as I watched the big man come back out with the broom. He was clean, polite, a real gentleman. It could never go anywhere, but maybe I could at least flirt with him a little. That might ease some of the loneliness that crept up on me when I wasn't looking.

Mickey couldn't fault me for that, could he? I blew out my breath in a frustrated huff. Of course he could. Mickey was the most stuffed-shirt prim and proper brute I'd ever met, or at least he was when it came to me. It was a damned double standard, since he went about with floozies and whores by the dozen. I know he wanted something else for me other than the life those dames lived, but I'd be damned if it didn't seem like they was having more fun than I could ever dream of. Putting the glass down I moved forward, leaning across the bar and smiling at Teague. "You missed a spot, handsome."


	4. Chapter 4

Licking his lips slowly and offering a smirk in return, Teague leaned his arm on the broom and looked over what he had done. "You'll just have to guide my hand, sweetheart. I won't stop until you're satisfied..." Teague's smirk spread into a smile that damn near curled my toes, "...with my work." I resist the urge to fan myself, the heat coming off him is that blazing. "While we're at it, sweetheart, what's your name? Or are you playing it coy? Do I have to guess your name?"

Oh he was good, I could feel my lips curling up in a smile as he teased me. If I was a younger dame, I might have fluttered my lashes and heaved a good old sigh in delight, but I was too old for that these days, and merely offered him a sassy wink. "Maybe I'm enjoyin' bein' a gal of mystery, Mister Teague. It's been a dog's age since a gent wandered through here an' didn't know who I was." Putting down both the glass and the rag, I pulled the dust pan out from under the counter and offered it to the big officer, resisting the urge to climb over the bar and offer him myself along with it. The man gave off heat like an August afternoon, and I felt like I'd been living through a year of Novembers. 

Of course, telling him even that much might be too much. Then again, Mickey was awful protective, I couldn't be sure my name spread further than his circles. He certainly wasn't the type to run his mouth about me. Heck, maybe it was a good thing we had that big old bar between us, keeping us both safe from the wild thoughts racing through my head. I took a few steps down the bar to serve up another gin and tonic to one of the regulars, pausing to give Teague another long look over my shoulder. "My friends call me Patsy, and I do hope we're gonna end up friends, Mister Teague. Friends is hard to come by these days, don'tcha think?"

Friends were definitely hard to come by, and I had a feeling Ned was gonna need this one more than he would ever be willing to say out loud. Idiot fixer, what had he got himself into? Shaking my head I give a little laugh at the ridiculous world some of us got set down in. "You best get back and finish straightening out your business with Mister Stax, I expect we're gonna have some company real soon, and they're like to be the sort that won't want to be seein' you." I mix up a few drinks for some fellas that had just wandered in, setting them on a tray. "Do come round again though. We get real quiet around here Tuesday nights."

Tossing my hair over my shoulder, I sashay out from behind the bar, and bring the drinks over to Lou and Thomas. They come in every night around the same time, have a drink together, and then go home. They are personal favourites of mine, cuz they're not associated with Mickey or any of his thugs. Just a couple of sweet fellas. They always sit at the corner table so that the knuckle-dragging apes that make up most of my clientele can't see them holding hands. I know that the Bible says it's a sin, but watching them two makes me ache for them. They're both married, got a couple of kids too, doin' what society expects of them, but if you look you can see where their hearts really lay.

It's a god-damned shame, if you ask me. I lean over the table to whisper in Lou's ear, warning him that the handsome fella with the broom is a police officer. I figured Teague was one of the good guys, but laws was laws, and as much as I thought it was so much bull, the law said what Lou and Thomas felt for each other was illegal. Thinking on that, it was probably why they came here in the first place. Nobody here would report them for breaking the law, though there were a few gorillas in Mickey's outfit that might rough 'em up for it. Lou thanked me quietly, bringing his hand back up from where it was holding Thomas' under the table.

Back at the counter Ned was nursing his double, taking it slow this time while he watched me at my business, his face all twisted up in nerves. He could be mad at me all he wanted, but what I said was truth and he needed to hear it. Mickey was gonna know he was meeting up with Teague, my place wasn't private in any shape, and Mickey wasn't going to like it. I did tell him a little white lie, though. I wouldn't tell Mickey what I saw, not unless he asked about Ned. The fixer had to tell him on his own, but he better do it right quick. Mickey didn't appreciate being lied to, and I don't think Teague would tolerate finding his old army buddy sunk in the east river. 

I set my tray down and, feeling daring, approached Teague, laying a hand on the broom handle. "Why don't I put that away for you, and you can just go rejoin your friend and finish your business, Mister Teague." I gave him my best bedroom eyes, looking up at him through the blissfully long lashes that were the best thing that Mama had given me. "You've certainly earned your keep 'round here this evening. I thank you for your kind patronage." I could feel my pulse racing, just standing this close to him. He seemed to radiate heat, and he smelled damn good enough to eat. I fought the urge to rub up against him like a cat in heat, and thanked whatever saints looked out for sinners like me that my hand was steady on the broom, and my voice calm and low.


	5. Chapter 5

With the slightest hint of a smirk, he winks at me, though thankfully he doesn't move closer. "If you need me, call my name. I may not be a fortune teller, but I have a feeling this is the start of a beautiful friendship." With one last look that a gal might call longing if she was feeling fanciful, he went to rejoin Ned and return to his conversation. Like the good little bartender I was, I moved off to put everything away, letting them have their privacy. It wouldn't last long, not in my bar, but I'd give them what I could. After all, that's why Mickey helped me set up the bar in the first place, though maybe not so much for the likes of Joe Teague.

After a brief exchange the fancy lawyer got up and left, and some of the tension in my chest eased. Stax wasn't a bad guy, but the kind of trouble he was bringing down these days was bad for business. Teague seemed relaxed though, so it couldn't have been anything major. If anyone had told me before tonight that watching a man light a cigarette was an erotic experience, I would have laughed them right back outta my bar, but the copper had long, strong fingers, and that sigh of contentment went right through a gal. It wasn't right, I tells ya. Not right at all. Part of me, and I'm classy enough not to mention which part, almost wished that Teague was a dirty cop. If he was someone in Mickey's pocket, maybe there'd be a chance for something between me and him. As it was, we lived worlds apart.

Just then his eyes seek me out, and I feel a shiver run down my spine, despite the stern shake I'd just given myself. Curse the man for looking so damn fine in the low lighting by the bar. Made him look broody, mysterious, and more tempting than chocolate cake after a week of salads. Smoothing out his suit, he flashes those pearly whites of his and I swear the other patrons can hear the liquid pooling in my undergarments, it was just that tempting. The man sounded like he swallowed gravel in the sexiest way possible. "Anything this old soldier can do to help you out before he heads home to his bed? Just say the word, sweetheart. There isn't anything I'll say no to."

Fuck a duck and call him Christmas, but wasn't THAT a loaded offer. Closing my eyes I quell a whimper of need that I absolutely refuse to let out in a place where I gotta come off as the boss. What happened to sexy, sassy, Patsy Nelson? I wasn't some badge bunny or army dolly looking to tumble the first man in or out of uniform that made a pass at me, hellfire, I was usually immune to all their charms. After all, I had Meyer Harris Cohen watching whoever trotted through my door and passing judgement. Of course... tonight he was busy, something big going down, and the best he could do is maybe send Sid around to take a peek. 

That didn't keep my mind from wandering down some naughty little side streets though. I could just imagine taking that big hunk of beefcake up to my apartment and unwrapping him like a birthday present. The best part of men's fashion were all those lovely little buttons that a dame could undo one by one. Not that I'd ever gotten further than the buttons before someone bust in and ruined all my fun. Just thinking of all the ways Mickey had interfered before had my nethers in an uproar. I knew what I wanted, here and now anyway, and with no one to stop me, could I be brave enough to reach out and help myself to a piece of it?

Of course, that was when James stepped in the door. The guy was pleasant enough, but we both know he worked for Mickey and that's why he was here. He closed the bar most nights, taking over around the time Mickey came in to give me his kid sister speech of the day. Since he wasn't coming today... I tossed my towel at James and jerked my thumb towards the bar. "You've got the house, James, I've got some business to take care of." Mentally pulling up my big girl panties, I turned to Teague and gave him the best come-hither eyes I could muster, lowering my voice and coating it with a little extra honey. "If it ain't too much trouble, I've got a light bulb out in my living room upstairs, I sure could use someone tall to give me a hand changing it."

There, that was about as bold and blunt as any call-girl trolling the streets. Turning my back to him, I made sure to flip my curls over my shoulder, casting him one last, long glance under my lashes before sashaying towards the back of the bar. I'd tossed him a low curve ball, it was up to him to hit it out of the park, or walk. Feeling as pleased with myself as the cat that ate the canary, I passed through the doorway into the back and started up the stairs, heart pounding about a mile a minute. Please please please, sweet baby Jesus, let that man's blood run as hot as mine. If not, well I was gonna have a long, uncomfortable evening on my own. 

Unable to resist, I stopped at the top of my stairs, pretending to fumble with the key to the door as I listened to see if he had followed. If I was very, very lucky, this would be the end of a dry spell that extended as long as I had been living, with Mickey none the wiser for who had done the deed. If I was less lucky, well then I guess I'd be hearing a long lecture from my self-elected older brother. Of course, worst case scenario I'd soon be sitting by myself on my old but comfortable couch, finding the bottle of another lonely bottle of red wine and wondering what on God's green earth it took to get a red blooded man out of his damn pants.


	6. Chapter 6

Growing up on the same block with the likes of Meyer Harris Cohen and his pals wasn't most folks ideals, but it suited me just fine. It was funny, most of the toughs were the Italians and the Catholic boys, but here was Mickey, this little Jewish fella, and he out-toughed them all. Before he got tight into the crime world he was a boxer, and you could see it on his face. His nose had been broke a time or two, and he had a scar on his cheek like the bone had been broke or something. Gave him some character, not that he needed more of it. All the gals were wild for Mickey. They didn't care that he was a little guy, all they knew was he was tough, rich, and had a soft touch with the ladies.

That was the best part about Mickey. Oh sure he'd slap a dame around if she got uppity and set off that temper of his, but he never did it for fun, not like some of those jerks. He never once hit me, though, and I vexed him sorely. He'd give me a shake now and then, trying to rattle some sense into the fluff between my ears, but even I know I deserved it. I had this craving to be wild, and when a man sees you as a little sister he'd rather see you in a convent. He held me to a different standard than the floozies who flocked around him, and I suppose I appreciated that in a way. I'd rather be the innocent sister than one of the fools in his bed.

I know exactly who Mickey Cohen is and what he gets up to, even though he plays it off as business. The man can't fool me. I read the papers, and I'm good with numbers too. There ain't any way he's make the kinda dough he rakes in all legit. I ain't about to judge him on it, I love him too dearly for that. I worry though. Worry that his temper combined with a life of crime is gonna get him shot, or arrested for shooting someone else. Mickey ain't always as careful as he should be. That's why I went out and bought the gun for the bar. He was right pissed when he found out, shook me so hard my teeth hurt and yelled fit to screaming. I set my jaw though, told him he could teach me how to use it or I would find someone else that would. That set him off even harder, and believe you me there were bruises on my shoulders from that grip of his.

In the end he gave in though, and I had to struggle not to smirk at that fact. He couldn't have it out that 'his little Patricia' was taking shooting lessons from someone else, it just wouldn't seem right. Gotta keep up images, and one of those images was that everything in the family was always okay. Family was a big thing for Mickey. He said that was what kept the Italians on top of things so much. They understood family and loyalty, and the only way to succeed was to have that kinda bonds between you and your people. To be honest, I didn't care how he justified himself, I just knew that if I was gonna have a bar full of gangsters I wanted to be able to shoot them if they got fresh or feisty.

Well, I sound all rough and tough, but then we all know I don't keep the damn thing loaded. In the end, I'm small enough I even make Mickey look tall, and the stupid gun has a kickback that damn near breaks my shoulder every time I shoot it. So mostly I just use it to reinforce my threats. I have bullets ... shells, for the stupid thing, but they're up in my apartment, which I know isn't handy, but Mickey hasn't checked the gun recently. What he don't know can't cause me that much trouble. It's not like anyone is gonna cause too much of a fuss when I can just casually drop the name of my de facto older brother to keep the peace. That's enough to shake up even the most belligerent drunk.

All of this about added up to that I was here, creeping past the fun side of twenty and still as innocent as a choir girl on Sunday, physically speaking. Folks would look at the crowd that I generally ran with and make assumptions about my morals and my character, and maybe they weren't wrong, but I just hadn't had a chance to act on any of that. I'm not sure why Mickey was such a wet blanket about everything. All around us folks were making free with themselves, drinking and partying and having fun. Me? I was starting to feel like Rapunzel or something sitting up in my second story flat alone, nothing to keep me company but Billie Holiday and Count Basie, or whomever was lighting up the airwaves at the time.

A gal had needs, damnit, and if this Teague fella turned out to be another too polite to party type, well I don't know what I'm gonna do. Maybe finally have it out with old Mickey about his ridiculous overbearing attitude. I ain't been shook in a few months, maybe it's time to stir the pot a little. I been a real good girl lately, and maybe that was why the status was still all quo. I give a little laugh, as if the status was ever gonna be anything other than quo where Mickey was concerned. Once upon a time I thought maybe he was so focused because he was interested, but that ain't the case. Then I worried maybe he wanted to marry me off to one of his pals, but that wasn't the thing either. Well Mickey, time to face the truth. Patsy is a grown woman and she has needs.


End file.
